Saturday, November 15, 2008

the old soldier

the old soldier walked into his war room. he closed the door gently, then hung his coat and hat on the bent coatrack, an act which he repeated for what felt like eons. the room was quiet. the chairs, once occupied by bristling minds and men, sat vacated around a stolid wooden table.

he looked around, listening to the shadows. he had lost this final battle. he had approached this battle like all the others, with a staunch acceptance of the possibility of defeat, and a faith in the possibility of victory.

he knew that this was not his time. there was no longer a place in the leadership pavillion for the ideologies he espoused. he knew this upon entering the warzone. and enter he did, shoulders back, head up, prepared to dodge everything "they" threw at him.

he reflected on his most worthy opponent. there was a glory in conceeding to this man, who might be able to change the country, as he himself had wanted to do.

in this proud surrender, he did not see defeat, just a new order, time for him to move on.

he sat in his chair, stained and worn from many skirmishes, hands clasped together, head down in prayer.

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greetings! i have managed to incorporate my eternal woodstock nation spirit with the high tech 21st century world. i am an artist/writer, who dabbles in rhyme, and, sometimes, reason. my passions are my husband, who is truly the wind that ruffles my sails, animals rights, yoga...waking up in the morning. i find inspiration in too many things to list, and far too many more to remember. sketching, watercolor painting,poetry and photography are my ways of expressing joy and gratitude. from living with a chronic illness, i have learned the beauty of each day, and treat each as another sun salutation, and another chance.